


Savin Me

by SketchLockwood



Category: The Hollow Crown (2012), The Sunne in Splendour - Sharon Kay Penman, The White Queen (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 00:57:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9574805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SketchLockwood/pseuds/SketchLockwood
Summary: Writing five deaths perhaps among the most significant in outlining the end and destruction of the Yorkist dynasty. The idea came to me when I was listening to music





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prison gates won't open up for me  
> On these hands and knees I'm crawlin'  
> Oh, I reach for you  
> Well I'm terrified of these four walls  
> These iron bars can't hold my soul in  
> All I need is you  
> Come please, I'm callin'  
> And, oh, I scream for you  
> Hurry, I'm fallin'  
> I'm fallin'
> 
> Show me what it's like  
> To be the last one standing  
> And teach me wrong from right  
> And I'll show you what I can be  
> Say it for me  
> Say it to me  
> And I'll leave this life behind me  
> Say it if it's worth saving me

**The Tower of London, 18th February 1478**

 

_ Isobel _

 

He did not move, did not see the point or purpose in even so much as trying. He simply sat, hand lamely holding the beer cup. His eyes looked up only slightly as the door to his chamber opened. He could have laughed at the thought, several months ago, had he been told that not just this tower but this room would become his home. That his life outside of these walls were as though it never existed. Except it did.    
  


It did, or rather, it had.    
  
Had, and all of that which now remained was a name. A name which brought pain to his heart and tears to his eyes. Isobel, he had not loved her, at least he had not realised that he had until it was perilously close to being too late. Until she had fallen ill, until it would have taken a miracle to save her. Until God himself had turned his back on them, and with that she had died. Of course, the greatest care had been taken, and he could not deny that; much as he might now curse his brother’s whore. Edward had done him so many wrongs, too many to count. Yet that was what he had not done wrong, when word had reached London that Isobel was gravely ill and like to die, Edward had not wasted time to send his own physicians.    
  
Not that they had availed her. 

 

“My lord.” He sighed, did not respond to the man. Felt he could not. He had woken in the morning unusually early. Now? Now he really did laugh, much to his servants astonishment, yet he could not help it. No matter if he worried them, what was there left to care about? Soon they would have no more concerns.    
  
No, he would give himself this moment to laugh at his own last trivial thoughts. Yes, he laughed a hearty chuckle at the thought that he had awoken earlier this morning than perhaps he ever had in all his life. Woken up early on this most dismal morning when for three months he had not woken up till after noon. When for three months, he had no reason to wake up before noon… 

 

Today, today was an exception.    
  
He had come to dread this room, to dread this tower, this stronghold, this town… this country. He had learnt to be more frightened of this building, of waking up confined to this cursed room than he had ever felt frightened before. Frightened to live, and frightened to die. 

 

“My lord, please I must disrupt you now.” The same man spoke again.    
  
“Yes, yes, I have nothing better to be doing I do suppose. May I finish my ale? It may help to numb me.” 

 

“You need your strength.” The executioner nodded. “I will not drag your grace away kicking and screaming, I would do my all to spare you such an indignity, as is the strictest command-”   
  
“From my brother?” George smirked, downed his remaining ale in three strong gulps, standing with a sudden force strong enough to send his chair to the floor. “Then allow me to scream on our way down? For I would not give him the satisfaction to make this, my death as he has chosen it, controlled by him. He can have the breath taken from my body, if his wife does wish it, he may even choose the way that can occur. He cannot choose if I wish to maintain my dignity, or dispose of it as he will with my body when I am dead.”

 

“Very well my lord.” The executioner spoke quietly, respectfully despite his role. 

 

***   
  
_ Isobel _

 

He had seen so many people, so many people he had thought, rather passingly, he would want to see. Yet no single face had been who had wished to be with him at this most petrifying time. Not even had he been able to see his father, a man who he was sure had taken death more bravely than he could now muster himself to do, he would have been content. Not so much as a smile would have found its way to his face, not unless She was here holding his hand. Not unless she could be with his as he was dispatched to their maker…   
  
And if she was, perhaps he would not have found his end like this. Of that he was quite sure. 

 

He had stopped screaming soon after he had left the staircase into fresh air, open air. Finding himself outside the white tower for the first time in weeks. Had felt his stomach flip, known his skin to drain of colour as he stepped onto the grass. “I am not to be taken to the dungeon?” He had asked uneasily, though his executioner was less talkative now. Less so keen on deference. “Ned!” George shouted, restrained as he reached for his brother. “Ned! God! Please! I will not dispute my death! Tell them though they have made a mistake! Tell them! I was to be taken to the dungeons and- Ned! You whoreson swine! Don’t turn your back on me! Edward!” He sobbed, collapsing in his captor's arms so half dragged him down the path, he shrieked, body shaking as he cried s his brother walked away from him, unable to watch.    
  
“Your grace, please you must now compose yourself, it will be much easier for you if you act dignified-”   
  
“And where is the dignity in losing my head?”    
  
“Your brother, the king, has offered it be done with a sword. So quick and painless, you will not know it was done.”

 

“And you know, because you have had this done?” George tried to be witty, saw the executioner smile, though he refused to laugh. 

 

“Please your grace.”

  
George looked to the man, ready to object, though he did not. Instead, with shaking hands he mustered his strength before nodding, dropping to his knees. He took a breath, exhaling slowly as his eyes fixed on the man he did not want to see. Edward looked through one of the windows of the white tower.    
  
That, and that alone, was where his eyes fixed as he heard the blade be drawn. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heaven's gates won't open up for me  
> With these broken wings I'm fallin'  
> And all I see is you  
> These city walls ain't got no love for me  
> I'm on the ledge of the eighteenth story  
> And, oh, I scream for you  
> Come please, I'm callin'  
> And all I need from you  
> Hurry, I'm fallin'   
> I'm fallin'  
> Show me what it's like  
> To be the last one standing  
> And teach me wrong from right  
> And I'll show you what I can be  
> Say it for me  
> Say it to me  
> And I'll leave this life behind me  
> Say it if it's worth saving me  
> Hurry, I'm fallin'  
> I'm fallin'...

**London, April 8th 1483**

 

_ Elizabeth _

 

He wanted her, needed her. Pain ran through his body, agonising spasms had become a deep spiral of worsening torture. His eyelids felt leaden, he could not hold them open, not if he tried. He had to try, was told he had to try, was forced to try. Hobbes had begun to irk, Hobbes, Hatcliffe and the endless cycle of doctors dragging on his life and forcing his eyes to stay open with their incessant and endless interventions. Their never ending, unwanted, help. 

 

He sighed, looking at the ceiling. He could not blame Hobbes, yet he could not help but resent him. The man was trained to save life, even when it should not, could not be saved. He was taught to see the normality in situations completely insane. He was trained to see human health as something which other humans could work to control, and rectify.    
  
He could have laughed, had his body possessed enough precious energy. Yet he knew it would come out as littler more than a choked gasp. His chest felt heavy, tight. He did not complain, would not complain, would not ask for something to relieve his suffering, suffering her knew in truth that he deserved. How his life had changed, from a boy truly adored to a man who was both hated and rejected. London now held no more love for him than did a fish, and the north? The north had ever been for his enemies; and with that he could not help but think that Richard, Richard who loved Yorkshire as much as it loved him, was among such enemies.    
  
Since George’s death… he did not know who to trust, did not know who loved him. Since George, things had changed.    
  
Since George he had lost touch of who he was… so much so that Elizabeth, his Elizabeth had seen the bulk of his rejection and his anger.    
  
Now. Now he wished for nothing more than to change that, than to have her there for his comfort. 

 

“Your grace, you must relax, you must not waste your energy on this worry.”    
  
“Worry? Energy?” He whispered, gripping the doctor's hand as he moved closer, dabbing the dampened cloth over his head. “Don’t.”   
  
“I came as soon as-” John Howard’s voice was louder than Edward had expected, caused a ripple of painful irritation. Howard had stopped when he reached the end of the bed, crossing himself. “My god.” His voice trailed off, finding his way to the bedside. “Edward, you… He will recover?” Howard spoke Hobbes with an anticipation bordering naive hopefulness. Edward offered a faint smile as the doctor said nothing, made no movement except to ignore his masters protest wiping away his sweat. “I did not even know you were ill, Edward, now…”   
  
“I don’t have much time.” 

 

“You should not say-”   
  
“Damn it John!” The shout made both men jump it was so sudden, so unexpected. “I do not delude myself but to think anything other than that I will die, and you should not either. It should hardly come as a surprise. Do not think that because my life is now spent in the confines of this bed, I do not hear what all do say of me. That my youth, my looks and my health were wasted in my lavish excesses. That I have drunk too much wine, eaten too heartily and bedded too many whores. Do not think I am deaf or ignorant. I know the truth in those words. I am dying, John. Your denial or mine will not change that, so as we are pressed for time, shall we not waste more of it on this folly?”    
  
John Howard felt his chest constrict, felt suddenly sick. He did not want to hear those words, did not want to know the truth. How queer it was, that this situation should have arose. Not five years ago, he would have cursed this man. Indeed he could have thought to hate him, as he cheated John himself from his duchy. Could have thought of treason when his small cousin Anne, Shrewsbury’s wife, had died with her inheritance so firmly in Ned’s hands… and yet John had forgiven…    
  
Forgiven and now this hurt.    
  
“Sit down John. It looks like it is you and not I who will die.” Edward waited, no impatience on his haggard face as he waited for Howard to seat himself. “Now you have come to terms with this? Shall we talk?” He did not wait for the response he knew would not be forthcoming. “I have made mistakes, and I have made enemies. George’s execution… I doubt it ever sat well with a single one of us. I do not regret the security which now is afforded to me with his absence.”   
  
“Did you call me here to drag up the past?” John spoke quietly, in disbelief.   
  
“No, I called you here because I need your help. I need someone strong, someone sensible John.” Howard jumped to his feet as the king coughed, a raspy sound which only reinforced the gravity of the situation. Blood speckled the cloth John held to his lips. “Elizabeth will hate you for the task I am to charge you with, do you understand me? She will try to stop it, but you must not let her. That is why I ask you, John. I need someone I can trust. Someone who will not listen to her. Someone who will not give in. Someone who will support Richard.”    
  
“Of course.” Howard nodded. 

 

“I have made Richard lord protector in my will. Not Anthony, not her Woodville kin, but my brother Richard.”   
  
“You are right.” Howard smirked. “She will not like that.”   
  
“Does not, she does not like that.” Edward waved a hand, pulling the other away from Hobbes as he pressed the knife to his skin. “You will not bleed me, have you not had enough of my blood to know this is futile?”   
  
“Your grace, it is proven-”   
  
“If it is so proven, Hobbes, why do men still die? I say you will not bleed me. That is an order, now leave, leave me to my business. It is done, John. She can dispute it as she pleases, but it is done, and she can contest it to her heart's content, she will not win.”   
  
“Richard knows I do assume?”   
  
“He has not been sent for, but he will know when I am dead.”   
  
“Not sent for?” John arched an eyebrow.    
  
“I would not worry him.”   
  
“Worry him? Ned you deprive him of the opportunity to say goodbye to the brother he loves-”   
  
“I am sparing him a painful journey from Yorkshire to find I am already dead.” 

 

“He will know that he is lord protector, I will inform him of that.” 

 

“Will Hastings too, he knows. I wished to make changes, right the wrongs of Woodville influence. I need England to be united. Warwick was right in that much, that they were not quite so befitting of the power they had.” Edward laughed, a throaty sound which made John’s stomach once again feel leaden. “I did not intend it would be this way, John. If that is what you think. I never intended on one bit of it, not Warwick, not Lisbet, not any of it. Yet I would not change it, that is what I must stress. I hear too that they say I gave in, wasted my youth aye, and that in recent years I have given in, after George, and have not just gambled my health, but willingly offered it to the devil. That is not so. I did not intend it to end this way, and that is why I have not made such proper preparations as I should.”   
  
“I believe you.” John rose to his feet, kissing his sovereigns knuckles as the younger man’s eyes closed. “Ned, you can trust me with this, in truth you can. Do not spend this time worrying of this, please, I will protect them, with Richard. I’ll defend your honour, defend your wishes and defend your sons. As God is my witness, I shall, and I swear it on my life.”    
  
John crossed himself as he looked to the man now asleep in the bed, his usually soft breaths little more than shallow wheezes. 

 

***   
  
**April 9th, 1483.**

 

_ Elizabeth _

 

He awoke, feeling her arm behind his neck, feeling her breast beside his cheek. “Beth?” His voice was quiet, he thought for a moment she had not heard i, so weak was it. Instead he felt her move, heard the sound of a tearful inhalation.    
  
“Ned. My love, I did not think you would wake. Hobbes told me you would not, told me you would go peacefully. That your pain was over-”   
  
“Beth, please.” His hand held hers. He could not grip, not had he wanted to. “I am scared.” 

 

“Oh, my love.” She wiped her eyes, he felt her tears. Said nothing. “You have nothing to fear. Death, they say it is quick.”

  
“And you have done it to know?” He tried to make the joke, felt her tense. “Beth, it is not death that scares me. I see no point in wasting my last moments fearing the inevitable. I do not even fear what happens after, if I am to go to heaven, then I will go, I have done all I can. If I am to go to hell? Then so be it… No, I fear what will become of you, of the children. Beth, I fear leaving you all. I-” He wheezed hard. “Beth, I am glad you came.” She watched his eyes close. Heard his breaths grow slower. “I am glad… Beth, I always loved you.”


End file.
